Archive of Our Own ^beta

Gravel crunches as the hired car pulls up in front of the Citadel. Ignis stares out of the tinted windows, emerald eyes ablaze with wonder. The Citadel is huuuuge – twin towers stretching towards the heavens, hundreds of little windows dotting the marble building façade.  His entire hometown could easily fit within its walls.

While Ignis gawks at what is to be his new home, his driver exits the vehicle, moving around to the trunk to retrieve the small boy’s suitcase, before finally stepping to the side to open the rear passenger door for the lad.

“Welcome to Insomnia, son,” the kindly man smiles down at him, offering a polite tip of his cap to the precocious little boy who’d kept his little button nose buried in a book the entire drive from the transit station to their destination.

“Thank you, Sir” Ignis says softly, but his accent lilts so melodically that even his quiet voice is easily discernible above the cacophony of nearby traffic and shouting voices.

Only being hired to escort the young boy, and having other appointments to keep, the driver pats Ignis on the head and resumes his place in the driver’s seat. The engine purrs to life and he drives off, leaving the six-year-old all alone at the foot of the grand staircase leading up to the Citadel’s main entrance.

Ignis’s uncle was meant to meet him here, but as the little boy would soon learn, even the most meticulously crafted schedule can be reduced to a shambles by the demands of the Crown. Alsius Scientia was most unfortunately waylaid by a Council member’s questioning of his latest budget proposal, pointedly ignoring the way the elder Scientia kept checking his watch with a worried frown (a plush tonberry and a slice of cake would later be used to make reparations to his nephew).

Ignis looks around, green eyes that had moments ago been wide with wonder are now tight with concern. He doesn’t know what he ought to do. This is where his uncle had instructed him to meet him, so perhaps he should wait right here at the foot of the stairs with his suitcase? But he soon notices that the adults hurrying to and fro from the Citadel’s main gate have to keep swerving around him and his little suitcase. He fears that he’s in the way. He doesn’t want to make trouble on his first day. Visions of being sent home in disgrace flash through his mind and his lower lip quivers dangerously.

The little bespectacled child is still deliberating when a suddenly a fat raindrop lands on the end of his nose with a little plop!

Face scrunching up unhappily, he tilts his head back, peering up at the ominously gray skies above. A few more raindrops fall, splashing against his lenses and painting his crisp white dress shirt with wet little polka dots.

Well that settles that, he decides.

Clutching at the handle of his suitcase he tugs it along, letting it roll on two wheels behind him. It’s not large, but it’s crammed with as many treasures from home as he could manage to squeeze into it – his favourite books, the best specimens from his rock collection, photographs, his journal, and his favourite tonberry-print blanket.

The flaw in his plan becomes apparent as soon as he reaches the first of the many steps leading up to the Citadel – his feeble, childish strength is adequate to pull the suitcase along on its wheels, but he struggles mightily to lift it high enough to ascend the steps.

He can feel his cheeks flushing pink with exertion as he slowly labours and he huffs with the strain each time he hoists the suitcase up the stairs, one step at a time. Meanwhile the rain continues to come, the drops falling with more urgency, pelting the little boy as he slowly makes his way up the grand staircase.  

When he’s battled his way to the halfway point he pauses, an impatient hand moving to push his damp bangs out of his eyes. At this rate he thinks he may wash away and drown before he makes it inside. He toys very briefly with the idea of abandoning his suitcase, but his treasures from home are irreplaceable, all he has left of his family and everything he’s known. He can’t cast them aside so easily.

A voice, high-pitched and childlike like his own breaks through the tumult of his thoughts.

“Hey. You need some help there?”

Vivid seafoam green eyes snap up, seeking the source of the unfamiliar voice.

A boy stands a few steps above him, a head taller than himself and probably twice as wide. Ignis would be intimidated by the obviously much older, stronger child were it not for those lovely brown eyes that regard him with such genuine warmth and kindness. Ignis finds himself immediately disarmed and at ease.

Ignis opens his mouth to gratefully accept, but then his father’s voice echoes in his mind, reminding him to be humble and obedient, to show respect and deference to his superiors, and kindness to his peers. He doesn’t know who this golden-eyed savior is. For all he knows this is the very Prince whom he has been called upon to serve, or some other son of a great and noble House. He shouldn’t risk it.

Erring on the side of caution, Ignis bows, bending at the waist just as he was taught to.

“Thank you, but I can manage. This is my responsibility,” he says quite seriously. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a chubby finger.

The other boy scratches his cheek and frowns, gaze flickering from the heavy suitcase to the small rain-speckled boy.

“It’s okay. Looking out for other people is kinda my job.” The dark-haired boy smiles and puffs his chest out importantly. The effect is only slightly diminished by the gaps in his smile where he’s missing teeth, betraying his age, which must be nearer to Ignis’s own than he’d originally thought.

Ignis doesn’t know how to respond to this. He tugs his bottom lip up under his teeth, chewing nervously. After a few moments of furious deliberation, in which the rain continues to beat against them he finally nods.

“Okay. Thank you, then.” He smiles shyly.

“Alrighty!” the other boy chirps happily, taking Ignis’s suitcase by the handle and easily hoisting it up. Ignis has to scramble to keep pace as they quickly run up the remaining stairs.

Once they’re safely inside the Citadel’s lobby, they shuffle to a quiet corner where they won’t be in anyone’s way, but Ignis’s uncle can still easily find him.

“Thank you so much. I’m in your debt,” the younger boy says solemnly, taking off his glasses, trying to find a relatively dry bit of his shirt to wipe them on.

His companion laughs. “It’s no biggie. Like I said, it’s practically my job.”

Ignis returns his glasses to their usual perch atop his nose and tilts his head to one side, regarding the other boy curiously, wondering if he too is a steward to the Crown as he is meant to be.

“Oh sorry,” the larger boy continues, the apples of his cheeks glowing with a hint of embarrassed heat. “I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Gladiolus Amicitia.” A small, tanned hand is thrust towards Ignis. “Everyone calls me Gladio, though. I’m gonna be the Prince’s Shield when I’m bigger.”

Shyly Ignis takes Gladio’s hand and endures a handshake that makes his entire arm wobble. “I’m Ignis Scientia. Um, everyone just calls me Ignis, though. I don’t have a nickname. Um and I’m going to be the Prince’s Advisor when I’m smarter.”

The boy – Gladio, he reminds himself – releases his hand and regards him, one eye squinted critically. Suddenly a grin bursts across his features and he declares “Well you have a nickname now, Iggy! And hey cool, sounds like we’re gonna be stuck together for pretty much ever, huh? Wanna be friends?”

Ignis nods eagerly, damp bangs flopping against his brow. “Yes please!”

Matching peals of childish laughter ring out sweet and clear through the lobby. It’s at that moment that a frantic Alsius Scientia dashes into view and makes a beeline for his nephew, who appears rain-drenched and tired, but also incredibly happy at having seemingly made his first friend in the big city.